Sylvie Aflalo-Haberberg’s book is a nice surprise. The body exists there. But in a particular dimension. It is not taken for granted as it is subject to a paradoxical exhibition, an implicit devoration and a “mutilation” of identity: the face remains (or almost) hidden. The takes nevertheless offer an “oscillation” with multiple inputs and movements. And this in a constant tension between breath and choking. The portrait becomes the display of confusion and anger. The body twists, gives itself, dilutes in the shadow, in a certain call, but also the fear of emptiness. The one to fill and that does...
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